I HATE fireworks. I’ve never particularly liked loud bangs, standing around in the cold or the idea that millions of pounds go up in smoke every year. I also refuse to believe that little packages of gunpowder which can potentially kill or maim should be on sale to the general public. These days, however, what upsets me most is the way they make my pets behave. Penny, our dog, trembles like a drunk the morning after the night before virtually every evening from mid October to Guy Fawkes Night, and we’ve had, two years in a row, our usually clean cat deciding that there’s NO way he can go outside to the loo. As I write this, The Bloke is cleaning up after the cat, there are lights in the sky, pops, squeals and bangs every few minutes and the marshmallows I dipped in chocolate are sitting heavy in my stomach making me feel rather sick. What’s the Bonfire Night equivalent of ‘Bah Humbug’?